


Colours of Sin

by Detavot



Series: Memories [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detavot/pseuds/Detavot
Summary: They had a game they played together... But now he played alone.





	Colours of Sin

    _We were happy._

    That was all he could think as the corpses of his past made a reappearance in his mind’s eye, and as he heard his final screams circulating again and again in his brain--echoing and becoming a deafening cacophony of pain and misery. He had memorised the corpses’ positions and the decorations on the tree. He could recall it all in an accuracy which scared him, and he dared not to think of the implications.

    _We were happy… were we not?_

    These past three years had given him a lot to think about.

    A laugh.

    A scream.

    A moan.

    A sob.

    Panting breaths.

    Sweet curses.

    Unforgivable sins.

    Innocent corruption.

    He sighed and massaged his temples, a headache making itself known in his head and his fatigue crushing him beneath its weight. His posture was crooked like an old man carrying aged burdens, or a sinner slowly sinking to hell. He wondered which one he was most similar to. Perhaps he was both.

    The bed was cold.

    It was quiet.

    He was black. Contradictory. Paradox.

    He was red. Passion. Life.

    He was blue. Anxious. Intoxicated.

    He was lost.

    _We were not happy._

    The most alive he had ever felt was in that cage where none was the wiser--where he burned in his colours and watched as they danced behind his closed eyelids. The portraits and photographs only told a portion of their story--insignificant to themselves. It had never defined them. Nor will it ever.

    The bed was big.

    He remembered the first kiss. Then the addiction that had come. The bluest tidal waves, the reddest blood singing in his veins, the blackest sin they treated as innocent blessings. It still did not seem black. When looking into the depths of the demon’s endless form, their sins did not look so black in comparison.

    The bed was empty.

    It was another restless night. His addiction, while under better control without a high for the past years, was still very much present. He did not think the hunger would ever fade. It had been carved into his mind, his body, his very _soul_. And others would taste it too, he knew. Sebastian would taste that sweet burn, and chase it for every second it took for it go from his mouth to his bottomless stomach.

    Black. Red. Blue.

    It was not possible to recreate, but it was possible to sate it for just a little while.

    As he felt the red paint him, his mind grew light and his body energised.

    He could imagine it.

    He could taste his high on his lips.

    He laughed, a short but gleeful sound, as he fed himself.

    More and more red.

    Blue and black.

    He gazed into the eyes and smiled.

    In the cage, there was no one to bother them. In the cage, no one cared.

    And was this not another cage?

    ~~no one would care if they were happy, no one would care if they were addicted, no one would care if they died and died and died and died and died and died and died and took pleasure~~

 

    Come morning, he was disgusted with himself.

    Come night, he played again. 


End file.
